Nationalista Cafe
by akuoni
Summary: The Spaniard Antonio F Carriedo was born to be a historian. Arthur Kirkland was born to be a hooligan. They end up working together in the same cafe. For Antonio's whole life, he has lied. And Antonio could not hate that lie more. Main Pairing: UKSpain
1. The Prologue

Cataluna Carriedo was pregnant. That wouldn't have been a problem, had her Italian love been her husband. Or Single. He wasn't and now he had left her to return to his wife. Her unborn child abandoned. Cataluna couldn't kill her child and couldn't face the shame of her parents. So she fled to the United States of America, selling the many trinkets her lover had given her to pay her way. She spoke English passably and traveled to a place where she could live peacefully and comfortably. She took a job as a waitress and made a comfortable living for herself and the baby that was soon to arrive.

* * *

Eight months after she had been left, and ten after she had become pregnant… Two lovely babies were born. A boy and a girl. The boy was dead and the girl had the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck. The girl Survived… Barely. And after they had recovered from the ordeal, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo went home with her mother.

* * *

Antonio was always bullied for that faint lisp he had whenever he spoke. His voice always had a faint rasp to it and it rumbled faintly with his mother's Castilian Spanish accent. He soon proved that his difficulty in speech and his seemingly oblivious personality hid a devil with enough anger to make the Spanish inquisition look like a tea party.

The only time anyone saw him cry was when he was in his senior year of high school. The new kid, Arthur Kirkland, broke the Spanish-American's prized toy. On his tenth birthday, his mother had taken him to a hobby shop and he had fallen in love with the model ship displayed on the kit. He had spent a month on the ship and another week painting the name on in a flourish. La Armada Invencible. The Invincible Armada.

Antonio had always taken pride in his ship, caring for it like it was the most perfect treasure in the world. The punkish Arthur Kirkland decided he wanted the ship for himself. It had not ended well. Antonio had fought tooth and nail to protect his beloved ship, but was overpowered and tied to a chair. He was forced to watch as the ship was destroyed before his very eyes. The event had traumatized him. He avoided the English boy and only referred to him as Pirata Diabolico. Whenever they spoke, Arthur would be sure to mention the ship… If only to watch the unfortunate Spaniard burst into tears and cry about his beloved Armada.

* * *

His mother died on his final year of college, a major in history and a minor in theatre. She had fallen ill with pneumonia. Her medical bills were too high to support herself and her son's tuition. So she hid the truth from him. The antibiotics were untaken and the illness killed her. He had no one to show his new diploma to. Only a burial. His mother resting in the hallowed grounds of the church cemetery. He sold their house and moved to a flat in the city. Her insurance had been worth a million dollars. He could live a wonderful life, instead he lived like a hermit, barely doing more than the minimum. Out of sheer boredom he trolled the help wanted section of the classified adds. A peculiar one caught his attention.

_Nationalista Café!_ The script light and playful drew his attention. The requirements were strange. Must have a knowledge of History, be able to speak Spanish, and an actor. He Shrugged and called. The owner, An Italian named Remus R. Vargas, told him to come in. And if he had any costumes from the fifteenth century, wear them! He had some preserved clothes from an ancestor who had achieved the rank of admiral during that time. After some digging, he found the clothes and put them on. Thankfully they fit.

* * *

He stood staring at the waiter in horror. The blonde waiter in blood-red with a plumed hat stared back at him with those green eyes that mocked him with their complete disregard as to who he was. But he was quite familiar with this man. Arthur Kirkland was still a pirate. The costume proved it. He felt the familiar harsh pain in his chest build up, felt the tears appear… And began to sob in distress.

"Y-y-you bathtard! You're the pirata diabolico that dethtroyed mi Armada Inventhible! U-u-uthted eth t-t-terrible!" He sobbed, unable to control the lisp he had had since childhood. He usually was able to keep it under control, but around Arthur… There was no way he could keep it contained to faint traces. He didn't notice the faint shock and discomfort of the man he accused, too distraught at the still-fresh pain of loss. Nor did he notice the Frenchman creeping up behind him with dastardly intent. Not until…

"YEEEEEEK!" _SLAP! THUD! __**CRASH!**_ Antonio stood with his hand still outstretched, staring at the stunned man covered in broken crockery. The blonde man behind him started laughing in malicious glee as he strode up behind Antonio and pulled the Spaniard into a lean, muscular body. Arms wrapped around him as he stiffened, his face paling with fear. Warm breath ghosted over his collarbone as the pirate spoke.

"I see you have met France," the English drawl made his hair stand on end, and a quivering heat form in his belly. He was familiar with the fear and hate, but knew better than to struggle. He nodded weakly as the Englishman behind him nuzzled the back of his neck almost affectionately. The hands stayed relatively G-rated, but that was because he would struggle if his arms were free. A whimper escaped him as the pirate continued to speak, "I have to apologize though. I did not recognize you for a moment there…"

"Antonio."


	2. The Beginning

"Bravo! Bravo! Bravissimo!" An excited clapping filled the silence left in the wake of the three's sudden impromptu show. Two pairs of vibrant green eyes locked onto the smiling man in ancient Roman Centurion Armor, the leather gleaming from the care lavished upon it, his head covered by a circlet of bronze. At his side stood a sulking blond man with long hair and cloaked in furs. They had seen the entire meeting and had already judged those still locked in that fascinating tableau. He advanced rapidly, sweeping the flustered Antonio from the Englishman's grasp and engulfing him in a bone-cracking hug. He loosed a pained squeak as he felt his ribs protest, and gulped down that precious oxygen with relief as he was released. He choked on air when his cheeks were kissed by the exuberant man, flushing at the open show of affection. He had not had greeting kisses since his mother had died.

"See Egon?" The Italian said cheerfully as he turned to the Blond man. The blonde seemed to be either Mute or Stoic. Whatever he was, he just rolled his eyes and looked out the window as the man began to speak again, "He fits right into the role of The Spaniard! You, my young man, are hired! I just knew you were the perfect man for the job~ You seem to know Arthur, Our Englishman, Already. And you have met Francis, the Frenchman. Our Italians are in the Kitchen. My Grandsons, Lovino and Feliciano are the head cooks. I am Romulus Remus Vargas and this is Egon Valeschmidt a-" "It is _Beil_schmidt, Herr Romulus." "Right. As I was saying, we are the managers/owners of this fine place and we hope you have a good time working here. If there are any questions ask Arthur or my grandsons. Egon and I have a date with our lovely wives and We hate to disappoint them. Ciao!"

And with that mile-a-minute introduction, the Italian dragged his stoic companion away. Antonio blinked, mildly shell-shocked by the rapid speech, before turning to Arthur with an apprehensive look. The Englishman was scowling up a thunderstorm and looking over Antonio's shoulder, or glaring. A few seconds later, Antonio discovered why. A yelp of surprise and he was tumbling down to the ground, entangled with a silver-haired man with red eyes and a psychotic grin of self-satisfaction. It changed to a grimace of pain when the Spaniard kneed him in the gut and punched him in the jaw, both of them swearing profusely in their native languages. They swiftly began a fistfight on the floor, trying to gain the upper hand. It didn't last long because two sets of hands dragged them apart. Arthur held Antonio in the same grip as earlier, but instead of holding one arm in each hand… Both of Arthur's wrists were trapped in one hand. And he had a feeling the other hand was what was trailing towards unsafe territory. He squirmed and wriggled frantically, but a booming voice drew his attention to the rather intimidating blond man holding the silver-haired man still.

"Bruder, Arthur… Stop Bossering se new hire." The blond seemed to be a younger, shorter-haired version of the stoic. Antonio wondered if they were related to that man. Their accents seemed similar, that was for sure. He stiffened as the blond man turned to him with a disapproving glare and grabbed his arm in a firm hold. That strong hand emphasized just how easily the man could break his humerus, "Und ju should not be fighting eisser. No matter who vas se vun who started it. It is already bad enough sat Frankereich broke all of sese plates. England, let him go. Ve vill take him to see se Italien. Veneziano is probably making a mess of se Kitchen. Again."

He and the silver-haired man were easily picked up and tossed over the Germanic male's shoulder like they were bags of potatoes as he carried them to the kitchen. Arthur followed after, laughing gleefully at their misfortune. Once they entered the kitchen, a delicious smell assaulted his nose. He immediately began squirming to be let down, his mouth watering as he recognized the strange scent of his favorite fruit. The luscious, succulent, red tomato. He even had a balcony garden with his beloved vine plant hanging over the side, splashing the drab building with viridian color. But what drew his attention, as the blond man put him down, were the twin teens arguing over a pot of pasta sauce. His eye twitched as he took in their appearances and a goofy grin slid across his face.

"ETH TAN LIIIINDO!" He squealed, bolting over and cuddling the closest twin to him. The twin he clung to made a strange sound and began beating on his arms, demanding to be let go. He huggled the teen for a few seconds longer before acquiescing to the demand and backing up. The teen was tomato-red and scowling darkly. Antonio's grin widened even more as he looked at the cute Italian, "You look like a tomate! I'm Antonio, your new Spaniard~ What's your name?"

"Chigi! You don't just hug someone you crazy bastard!" The Italian yelled, whacking Antonio with a wooden spoon. Antonio blinked, taken aback by his aggression. Cataluna had told him that Italians were more… gentle and romantically inclined. Not… like this guy. Not all aggressive and short-tempered. He retreated from another thwack, staring at the Italian like he was some new and interesting specimen, "And I do not look like a tomato you-you-you Tomato-bastard! I'm Romano, but don't you get any ideas jackass! I can take you out in no time! Don't think I can't! Cause I can you know!"

And so began the new Life of Antonio Carriedo.


End file.
